


Tokens of Affection

by irisbleufic



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Gift Exchange, Homecoming, M/M, Recovery, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gifts, white lies, and other assorted romantic holiday mayhem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokens of Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Panjianlien in the 2008 Yuletide Challenge.

It seemed to Nicholas that there had always been an element of answering-back in the gifts that he and Danny gave each other. Some of the earliest examples that he could think of weren't gifts _per se_ : that first, fateful round of drinks that had led up to his falling asleep on Danny's couch over _Point Break_ and _Bad Boys II_ , and so forth.

Granted, Nicholas's reciprocation had, at first, been fairly poor. The cuddly monkey might have counted as his first return favor, although if he was honest with himself it'd had more to do with the way Danny had clearly _wanted_ the damned thing. And then Danny had gone and given _back_ the monkey in a fit of Nicholas-induced anger, which had made Nicholas all the more determined to do right by him from then on out.

The peace lily notwithstanding (no longer impounded), Danny always seemed to find a way of one-upping him (Cornettos, car keys, absolute trust). The flowers for Mrs. Butterman's grave had probably been Nicholas's best effort to date. They had earned him something resembling a snuggle later that evening, which had been vaguely perplexing at first, but actually quite nice once he'd got used to it. In fact, he was getting used to the prospect of a lot of possibilities that he'd never even considered.

Now, with fewer than six weeks left till Christmas, he was stuck.

What was worse, between the increased tensions and petty vandalism that came along with the holiday season and getting the finishing touches on the new police station in order, Nicholas severely doubted he'd have time for a proper shopping run to Buford Abbey. He feared that if he even so much as let on that he had plans in that direction, Danny would want to come along. And if Nicholas knew anything about himself by now, it was that he could deny Danny nothing. Trips to B&Q and PC World were all the more enjoyable with him along for the ride. Also, Danny knew where to find the things that Nicholas, well, _didn't_. He hadn't the faintest idea in what aisle the newest iPod model might be hiding. It astonished him that Danny didn't yet own one, much less a computer.

There was also the point that figuring out the bus system in this part of the country was a nightmare. He would need Danny.

"Buses?" asked Doris, rather too loudly, perplexed. "What d'you need a bus for, then?"

Nicholas shushed her. "Keep it _down_. Listen, I need —" he paused, realizing that he probably sounded like even more of a twat than usual "—er, sorry. What I meant to say was, IneedtogettoBufordAbbeywithoutDannyknowing."

And he was positive he'd seen that _look_ on Doris's face before.

"Ah, I getcha," she said, stealing an exaggerated glance around the room before winking at him. "Personal errand of the _holiday_ variety. Well, Inspector, depending on what day it is you need to go, I'd be more than happy to drive you! I've got me own shopping to do. Mum's a fright when it comes to gifts, so I've got to start lookin' early. To be dead honest, I ain't got the first idea about them buses! Too confusing."

"Don't be ridiculous," Danny said, ambling up with a plate in each hand. "It isn't _that_ hard. You just hop the four at the bottom of the hill, switch to the thirteen at the first stop in Heston, and that one goes to the retail park in Buford Abbey. So, when we going?" He rattled a plate at Nicholas. "Brought you some cake."

 _Fucking fuck_ , thought Nicholas. "Thanks, Danny," he said, accepting the plate. Rumor had it this one wasn't store-bought. The filling, a rich butter-cream, tasted like coffee.

"Good, innit?" Danny asked, beaming. "Auntie Jackie's brilliant with baked goods."

Doris cleared her throat. "Trip to Buford Abbey, then? When's good for you lads?"

"Any day we're all three of us off?" Danny ventured. "That's tricky."

Meanwhile, Nicholas was using the cake to hide his quiet panic. "Don't worry about it," he said, finally. "Danny and I will take the bus. I imagine you'll need all the room you can get for your parcels."

Doris's look went from thoughtful to sly, and then she nodded. "Right you are, sir. You have fun now! Oh, and don't forget to pick up some new bin liners for the station."

"Yay!" Danny applauded, bouncing slightly. His fork rattled against his plate.

Nicholas smiled and took another bite, his panic rising to match his blood sugar.

 

* * *

The hill that Danny had been talking about just happened to be the one on which Nicholas lived, which made locating the bus stop relatively hassle-free. The services were a bit wonky on Sundays, however, which added a dimension of doubt to the whole situation. A brief perusal of the timetables told Nicholas that, if they weren't careful to catch the 4:45 PM thirteen out of the retail park, they'd never catch the last four from Heston back to Sandford. If he missed anything about London, it was the comparatively frequent and reliable transport.

"Bus is here," said Danny, yawning, tugging on Nicholas's sleeve.

Nicholas had found it necessary to shove him off the couch in order to wake him up. On the nights they ended up at the cottage, Nicholas found relocating to his own bed in a tipsy haze at three in the morning the hardest thing in the world. Danny, bless him, always had the good sense to stay the fuck where he was when they were on _his_ couch. Nicholas cursed his sense of propriety. It was clear that Danny got on just fine without one.

Nicholas nodded, stepping past him and up the steps. He paid for both return fares.

"I hate it when you do that," Danny said. "I earn a salary, too, you know!"

"Yes, well," Nicholas replied, claiming the window seat, "my salary's higher than yours, so I'm good for it." It might have been too early in the morning to attempt the inflection required of certain rude hand gestures, but Danny seemed to get the message.

Nicholas's new salary was so high, in fact, that he wasn't sure what to do with all of it. Buying Danny something _really_ nice would, he hoped, be a move in the right direction. He'd resigned himself to the fact that today's outing would have to be for reconnaissance purposes only. Having Danny along, he realized, would actually be more help than hindrance: he'd pay _very_ close attention to the gadgets Danny picked up, fiddled with, and raved over. Assuming it was a gadget he was after.

"Haven't been shopping in a while," mused Danny, sleepily, as the bus lurched forward. Ten seconds later, he was out cold on Nicholas's shoulder, in danger of being pitched from his seat.

Nicholas put a protective arm around him and wondered who on earth he needed to write to about the bad state of the roads in and around Sandford. He was just going to bypass the Council, because, now that the NWA was gone, they didn't even seem to realize that Sandford _had_ roads in need of upkeep, and that was on a good day.

"Poor love," said the ticket inspector, a middle-aged lady in an ill-fitting uniform. "'Angover, is it?" she asked, nodding as Nicholas showed both strips of paper.

"Not exactly," said Nicholas. "He's recovering." Which wasn't strictly true anymore, seeing as Danny had been out of hospital for the better part of a year. People always looked apologetic, and left it at that.

An hour later, the switch in Heston accomplished by the skin of their teeth, Danny dragged Nicholas into what was clearly a brand-spanking-new Ikea occupying the end of the retail park that had previously been taken up by an outlet store geared towards all things plumbing. _Housewares_? What about computers? Nicholas had even been considering a new laptop. His old one was dead, sitting on the top shelf in his closet collecting dust.

"I love these things," Danny said, picking up what looked like some kind of mold for star-shaped candies from a colorful display. He twisted it, proving the object to be made of rubber that was extremely bendy indeed. "Ice-cube tray! Doris has got this one, and she's also got the one with heart shapes. She wanted me to pick some up for the station, says there's plenty of room in the new freezer."

Nicholas felt a headache coming on, but he grinned, because that's all _anybody_ could reasonably be expected to do when faced with Danny Butterman in abject delight.

"Have they got bin liners?" he heard himself ask.

They didn't, as it turned out, but the Tesco across the way _did_. All in all, they were laden with four ice-cube trays (two of each design) and two boxes of bin liners (sadly not bomb-proof) by the time they walked into PC World. Nicholas did all the carrying.

"They've switched it all around," observed Danny, after surveying the noisy, brightly lit space. "Motherfuckers. This is going to be annoying to re-learn."

 _Swell_ , thought Nicholas, trailing after him into the nearest aisle.

Neither of them was in the market for a new mobile, although Nicholas had to admit that the newest Sony Ericsson model _was_ , as Danny put it, sweet. The demo pieces, however, had limited capabilities, and Danny quickly grew bored with them. From there, Nicholas insisted that they find the laptops, seeing as, well, he _needed_ one.

"You want a Mac or a PC?" asked Danny.

"My old Hewlett Packard was a piece of shit," Nicholas admitted, running his fingertips over the nearest iBook, which looked to be the twelve-inch. "I'm thinking it's time for a change."

"They're no good for gaming," muttered Danny, darkly. "Just sound mixing and graphics, that sort of thing."

"I'll only need it for word-processing."

"What, you don't even listen to _music_ when you're alone? That's scary."

"Of _course_ I listen to music when I'm alone," Nicholas lied. "iTunes would be another argument in favor of a Mac, right?"

Danny shook his head vehemently. "You can get it for PC, too."

"I don't know the first thing about gaming."

"It's dead awesome, as long as you don't let it take over your life. For example, Andy's cousin's brother's boy, Sam, got involved in this World of Warcraft mission..."

Twenty minutes later, Nicholas had only managed to skim the specs on three different machines whilst learning the gory details of the unfortunate lad's (virtual) demise. His fate in real-time, it would seem, had been nothing that a long shower, a haircut, and a pair of reading glasses couldn't fix.

"...and that's why Dad wouldn't let me have a computer. Not that I'm bitter or nothing." The despairing note in Danny's voice clinched it.

Nicholas knew there'd be no turning back, even if it meant deferring his own system upgrade for half a year or so. Just because one could stand to splurge a bit didn't mean it was a valid excuse to do so selfishly. Besides: his second Christmas devoid of a knife-wielding Father Christmas was worth celebrating in grand fashion, and Danny was a worthy beneficiary.

 

* * *

They hit the return buses with eerie precision, thanks to judicious application of the alarm function on Nicholas's watch. Danny slept the latter part of the trip home, too, which meant that Nicholas had to make sure that neither Danny, _nor_ their parcels took a spill. It was nearly eight o'clock when they reached Nicholas's doorstep.

Although they'd left PC World without a computer, Danny _had_ decided at length that the new Sony Ericsson was worth buying. He'd fiddled with it the whole way from Buford Abbey to Heston, and Nicholas had found it necessary to take it off of him and shove it back in the box when it was clear he'd begun to doze. How Nicholas got both a drowsy Danny and three bulky bags into his front hall without any mishaps, he'd never know.

"I'd best get on home," Danny said, taking his bag from Nicholas, who'd been about to set it on the coffee table. "Early start tomorrow, yeah? I reckon it'd be a bad idea to start something."

"It doesn't matter," Nicholas said, pointedly taking the bag back and setting it right where he'd originally intended to put it. "We can just as easily fall asleep over drunken conversation as to _Batman Begins_. I thought you'd wanted to see it again."

Danny shrugged and sat down on the couch. "Beer's fine by me. What have you got?"

"Actually, I was being sarcastic. We're having tea, which is enough of a stretch for one day."

Danny raised his eyebrows and whistled. "Nicholas Angel, livin' it up!"

"Earl Grey it is." The sound of Danny's disappointment followed Nicholas to the kitchen.

For all Danny's protesting, he tended to drink whatever Nicholas gave him (provided there was enough sugar in). The new mobile made its way back out of the packaging, at which point it had a hot teacup and Danny's continued explorations to contend with. Eventually, Nicholas took it and added his number to the directory _for_ Danny, as he'd managed to read the instruction booklet while Danny was busy asking, ooh, I wonder what _this_ does?

Some hours later, Nicholas woke up to a decidedly bird's-eye view of his half-empty cup on the floor. Danny was snoring away at his hip, one arm thrown across Nicholas's legs, the mobile somehow still dangling from his fingertips.

Gently, Nicholas took it, set it on the coffee table, and settled back down. His legs would be badly cramped from spending the entire night curled in on himself with Danny using his lower half as a pillow, but if Danny was comfortable, far be it for him to complain.

The next thing Nicholas knew, Danny's mobile was going off loudly, one of those grating stock ringtones that never failed to send his pulse through the roof. Fumbling, he answered it.

"Hello? Nobody has this number yet, so you must have misdialed."

"Not so," said Doris. "Danny added me last night after you showed him how and then sent me a text so I'd know he switched. Is everything all right, Inspector? You lot are twenty minutes late. I was afraid maybe you'd missed your bus and got stuck overnight in Heston!"

" _Shit_ ," muttered Nick, and hung up. He squirmed, hoping to rouse Danny.

"Hmmwha?"

"We're bloody _late_! Get up."

"Fuck. You want me to make toast while you get dressed?"

"No, I'll do it."

" _While_ you get dressed? That could get awkward."

"Never mind. You get the toast, I'll get my uniform... _dammit_. What about _your_ uniform?"

Danny shrugged, already halfway to the kitchen. "I'll run home once we've signed in."

Nicholas sighed, but he couldn't help but flash Danny's back a tired smile.

They finished their toast and made it to the station in roughly twelve minutes, at which point Danny dropped Nicholas off and promised he'd try not to take too long. Nicholas suggested he might pick up something edible on behalf of both of them, seeing as lateness called for _some_ form of punishment. Danny reassured him he knew just the thing.

"So you weren't stuck in Heston?" said Doris, finally, once Nicholas had finished explaining.

"No. We—" and it was only then that Nicholas realized what a spot he was in "—that is, _I_ overslept, and Danny had promised to collect —" at which point he _also_ realized that his story didn't add up, what with the fact he'd just explained Danny had gone home to change clothes " —me. Well, except for the fact that he'd overslept, too, so—"

"Way to overcomplicate things, Nicholarse," said Andy Cartwright in passing, flashing him a double thumbs-up. Andy Wainwright silently echoed the gesture.

"Oi, shove off," Doris told them, but they had already taken refuge in their office. "Pay 'em no mind," she said to Nicholas. "To be honest, I think maybe they're miffed you didn't ask 'em along, boys' day out and all." Her laugh was still grating, but Nicholas had grown used to it.

"That's as may be," Nicholas said. "In any case, I was attempting to apologize. Where's Fisher?"

"Last time he was this late, he'd overslept, too. D'you think I should give him a ring?"

By the time Danny and Fisher had reported for duty, they were still understaffed. Walker was home for a third day straight with, if they'd deciphered him properly over the phone, a nasty bout with lurgy. Saxon had barked by way of reinforcement, which had made the deciphering all the more difficult. Danny had said that Walker's obvious congestion proved his claim.

"It's a bad time of year, this," said Fisher, ominously. "Within a week of his return, just you watch. We'll all of us be down with it, one after the other."

"Knowing _you_ two," said Cartwright, eyeing Nicholas and Danny each in turn, "you'll both be down with it at the same time, arguing over who gets to bring who toast and Lemsip."

"I'm perfectly good at the toast, thanks!" replied Danny, defensively.

Nicholas closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, praying the Andys would move on to another target. It was bad enough that the Turners had got sick of waiting around and sent _themselves_ on patrol. He didn't like anyone to undermine his authority, as hard-won as it was, and this time, he had nobody to blame but himself.

"Cheer up," said Doris, patting Nicholas on the shoulder. "Danny's brought biscuits!"

Later in the day, after he and Danny had returned from _their_ patrol shift and handed it back over to Sergeant Turner and to Fisher, who was all too happy to stand in for Turner's surly brother, Doris wandered into Nicholas's office and offered him what was left of the biscuits.

"If I eat any more of these, me trousers won't fit! Danny says he shouldn't eat 'em, either, on account of what them doctors have been sayin'. He's looking kind of scrawny for _him_ , ain't he?"

Nicholas took the biscuits and shoved them in his top drawer. "Yes, but it'll be good for him in the long run. Can I help you with anything, or is this a social call?"

"You sure didn't look busy, and the way you and Danny keep exchanging glances, I couldn't help but wonder if you got up to some mischief yesterday—"

"I _beg_ your pardon —"

"—regardin' gifts for the team! Don't you worry, Inspector. I won't say a word. What'd you get Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, then, stockings full o' coal like they do in America?"

"Actually, we didn't—" Nicholas paused and took a breath, realizing he was in the clear. "I was wondering, come to think of it. Do you have any idea what they _do_ want? I really hadn't got any farther than thinking about Danny's gift, which was hard enough with him being right there the whole time."

"Ooh, what're you getting him?"

"As if I'd tell _you_. I don't want the entire station to know before Danny does!"

"Fair enough. And I hate to disappoint you, Inspector, but I haven't got the foggiest. Although Walker was saying something t'other day about Sax needing a new leash."

 _So noted_ , Nicholas thought, scribbling along the side of his desktop calendar. "Anything else? What about you, Doris? You seem like a woman who knows her own mind."

"To be honest, it was them ice-cube trays! I don't mind 'em early. Functional's better than useless, Mum always says. Just think of the cocktails we'll have at New Year's!"

The last thing that Nicholas wanted to think about was having to shampoo copious amounts of vomit out of the new carpet, although it was bound to happen sooner than later anyway, what with a dog constantly on the premises. "Surely there's something else?"

"Maybe," said Doris, suddenly thoughtful, "but it's nothing on my own account. I'd mostly just like to see things back to normal around here. You know. Everyone _happy_ again."

Nicholas nodded, tactfully averting his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "So would I."

Doris rubbed her hands together and propped herself against his desk. "What about _your_ present, then? A few pointers couldn't go astray..."

Through the glass, Danny was giving Nicholas the universal I-pity-you look.

 

* * *

Nicholas hated lying to Danny, but it had to be done.

"So we can't watch _Batman Begins_ tonight all because you've got this 'training thing' in Buford Abbey tomorrow? Since when did they start sending training units _there_?"

"Since I requested one," Nicholas snapped, instantly regretting it. Danny looked upset.

"Why can't we do it in groups? It'd make more sense to send two or three of us at a go."

"We're understaffed as it is," said Nicholas, repeating what had become his mantra when things got rough around the station. It was, at least by London standards, true. "It makes more sense for me to get my session in alone, seeing as I'm the only inspector, and then I'll talk to them about getting the rest of you through in a timely and efficient manner."

Danny nodded slowly, as if this made some kind of sense, brightening a little.

"Make sure I get teamed up with Fisher or Doris, yeah? As a sergeant, it's my prerogative not to have to put up with Andy _or_ Andy."

"That's fair enough," said Nicholas, so relieved that he couldn't help but laugh. "I'd put them through together anyway."

"Seems to me they'd prefer if there was nobody else in the world but them," said Danny, thoughtfully. "It's like we're all unwelcome intruders on whatever bizarre fantasy they're living in."

Nicholas blinked. He'd never thought of it that way before, but he had to concede that Danny's description was accurate. It wasn't that he blamed them, either: there were times when _he_ wished everybody in the world except for Danny would just bugger off.

"Guess I'm in for a pretty sad Saturday night, though. D'you mind if I watch the movie anyway?" The look on Danny's face wasn't as pathetic as before, but it made Nicholas's heart clench.

"Tell you what," Nicholas said, cursing himself with every word. "If we go straight to yours when we're finished for the day and start the film immediately, I'll pay for dinner. Take-away of your choice, as long as it delivers. I'd like to get home by a reasonable hour so I can get in a good night's sleep."

"You sleep just as well on my couch," Danny pointed out, casually.

"Yes, but the bus doesn't stop a thirty-second walk from your flat. It stops a thirty-second walk from _mine_."

"It's annoying when you're right, you know that?" Danny asked, chewing his lip. "Wong's," he said, finally. "They do mean sweet and sour prawns, and I like 'em over noodles, not rice."

"I had something of an idea in that direction," Nicholas confessed, reaching out on impulse to squeeze Danny's hand. "Sweet and sour prawns it is." He'd order some vegetable egg rolls, too, just to be on the safe side.

Walker was back from his bout with lurgy, although it was clear he hadn't quite got his voice back. As a result, Saxon did a lot of talking for him, which made any attempts at comprehension not only impossible, but wholly ludicrous. Only Doris seemed to sense when it was something really important, such as the pair of them wanting something to eat.

"I can tell when a lad's hungry," she said, "whether he's man _or_ beast."

Walker croaked a determined attempt at thanks.

"Any time, love," replied Doris, and announced she was off to the shop.

While she was gone, some kind of tiff broke out between the Andys and the Turners, at which point Nicholas found himself in the middle of some vicious verbal crossfire that, when it came down to it, was about whether or not they ought to have one holiday party or two, and whether or not the station was the best location for said party.

"One or two?" Nicholas echoed, confused.

"Yeah," Danny explained, lowering his voice. "See, the Andys think we ought to have a Christmas one _and_ a New Year's one, whereas the Turners think one party'd suffice for the both. They ain't keen on the thought of cleanin' up after everybody twice, what with the fact they've got the late and early morning shifts most of the time."

"Has it always been like that?" Nicholas asked. It hadn't even occurred to him that they might want a change, although that would be difficult to implement given that the rest of the team were fairly stuck in _their_ ways, too, Nicholas and Danny included.

"Near as I can tell," Danny said. "Ever since I started, anyway."

"What're you two whisperin' about?" Cartwright demanded. "It's none of your business!"

"Actually, if it concerns the holiday party, it _is_ my business," said Nicholas, raising his voice. "There will be one, and one _only_. I see no reason we shouldn't use the station, although I should warn you that if any significant damages are incurred on the property, it will be at the perpetrator's expense."

Sergeant Turner looked pleased, which was a rare occurrence. "When should we have it?"

"I say Christmas Eve," Danny said. "New Year's is more fun down the pub, if you ask me."

"That's a Tuesday evening," said Nicholas. "Christmas Eve, I mean."

"Yeah, and what the fuck do you expect will happen on a Tuesday evening?" asked Wainwright. "A mysterious resurgence of murdering twats?" He glanced apologetically at Danny.

"Take it back, and I'll forget you ever said it," said Nicholas, sharply.

"Take what back?" asked Wainwright, innocently. "I didn't say _nothing_. As in, nothing of any importance is likely to happen on a Tuesday night. Therefore, Christmas Eve is all right by me."

Cartwright mumbled something that sounded a lot like _me too_.

"Somebody better tell Doris," Fisher suggested. "She'll take over organizing in a blink."

"I'll tell her when she gets back," Danny said. He was giving Nicholas their super-secret victory grin, although it probably wasn't all that secret. The Andys took it as their cue to stalk off in disgust. "She's keeper of the station fairy lights as it is."

Whatever else might happen, Nicholas decided then and there that none were going up in his office. His one comfort was that Danny seemed happy enough to burst. Nicholas wondered at what point he'd lost his wonder at the holiday season. Sadly, he was sure that it pre-dated two years ago. And when Doris returned, she did, indeed, fancy the idea of handling decorations.

"We've got these white fairy lights that would look _smashing_ lining your office win —"

"No," insisted Nicholas, adamantly. Danny _awww_ ed at him, just shy of a pout.

"Maybe a tiny little tree, then? It'd look ever so sweet on top of your filing cabinet."

Danny gave him puppy-dog eyes. "I'll decorate _that_ , if you like. No lights."

Nicholas threw up his hands and retreated. "Whatever you want."

Much later, film watched and Chinese take-away consumed (not to mention several beers apiece), Nicholas informed a half-asleep Danny that he was not, under any circumstances, to let Doris put those bloody lights up in his office. Danny nodded against his shoulder.

"Did you even hear a word of what I just said?" Nicholas asked, tilting his head down for a good, hazy look at Danny's face. His eyes were shut the whole way now.

"That's what I thought," Nicholas sighed. Danny made a vague noise, turning his head to one side so that it rested more against the back of the couch than against Nicholas's shoulder. Nicholas knew a prime exit opportunity when he saw one.

He leaned over and whispered, close to Danny's ear, "I've got to go now. It's late, and I want to catch the first bus out of here. I'm sorry I can't bring you with me. It's important that I do this alone."

It was then that Danny decided to turn his head back in Nicholas's direction.

Nicholas's first thought was that Danny was starting to get a bit stubbly and could do with a shave in the morning, although he didn't whisper _that_. His second thought was less a thought and more an impression: Danny smelled like Nicholas's own shampoo, and although he couldn't recall Danny using the shower at his house recently, he supposed it might follow that Danny _liked_ the smell of Nicholas's shampoo and had gone and bought some for himself. His third thought was _definitely_ not a thought, and there was nothing Nicholas could do to stop himself, either.

Danny's skin was soft under his lips in spite of the stubble. There were times when he'd _wanted_ to kiss Danny goodnight, leave him with a sort of subconscious I'll-see-you-in-the-morning, but he'd never been able to work up the nerve. Or maybe it had more to do with losing his nerve than anything else, because, now that he'd gone and done it, Nicholas didn't want to go home. He wanted to bundle Danny off to bed and crawl in beside him, and then...

Then? He wasn't entirely sure what, although he was _kind of_ sure, and that frightened him.

Nicholas left feeling like the worst person on earth, which was something he'd hoped he was through with. One glance over his shoulder told Nicholas that Danny would stay there till morning, peacefully asleep with the faintest trace of contentment on his face.

Maybe not the _worst_ person on earth, then, but a fairly crap one all the same.

 

* * *

"Can I help you find anything?"

The girl was just a bit of a thing, no older than seventeen and still in braces. She had the kind of unfortunate, bright gingery-orange flyaway hair that made sort-of-gingery individuals like Nicholas be grateful they hadn't got stuck with worse. Her PC World uniform shirt was too big for her, and she kept her white, freckled arms wrapped very tightly about her middle. Nicholas supposed that, without the benefit of his coat, the store would prove very cold indeed. He read the information card one more time and sighed.

"I'm looking for a laptop. Not a Mac," he added hastily.

"That one's not a Mac," the girl pointed out, helpfully. According to her nametag, she was called Charlotte. Nicholas hoped she'd grow into it one day.

"No," Nicholas said, uncertain as to what else he possibly _could_ have said, given the circumstances. "It's a Hewlett-Packard. I used to have one."

The girl glanced from side to side, as if to make sure her manager wasn't within earshot. "They're pretty shit," she said confidentially. "My parents bought me one of those two years ago and it died of a virus after just a year and a half."

Nicholas smiled at her, turning away from the display. "Did you choose your new machine?"

"Yep," said Charlotte, proudly. "Saved up for it all on my own, and I get the employee discount."

"Do you mind my asking what kind you picked?"

"Nope," she said, taking him by the elbow with awkward, impersonal fingers. She led him to the end of the aisle and pointed to a rather monstrous looking seventeen-inch machine. "It's not for everybody, but I'm a gamer, and the graphics card and RAM are just _ace_."

Nicholas squinted at the price tag. _For two thousand quid_ , he thought, _they'd better be_.

"It all depends on what you're going to use it for," Charlotte told him. "You don't look like the gaming sort. Maybe it's word-processing you're after? In that case, I'd go for a Mac if I were you."

"I'm not," said Nicholas, hastily. "A gamer, I mean. But it's not for me. It's for someone who _is_ , hence why I'm not after a Mac."

"Oh," said Charlotte, suddenly quite pleased. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I hadn't got to that point, is all. Do you want to explain the rest of this nonsense to me?"

Eagerly, Charlotte nodded. Her monologue contained a lot of recognizable terms like hard drive and CD-ROM, but it also contained a lot of terms about which Nicholas had only the faintest clue. When in doubt, he decided, trust the crooked-toothed teenager who probably spends every waking hour she's not in school or at work playing World of Warcraft with Andy's cousin's brother's boy.

"I'm sold," Nicholas reassured her. "Where do I pay?"

"Over here!" chirped Charlotte, grinning metal from ear to ear. "Is it a Christmas present?"

"Yes," Nicholas said, following her to the till. The cardboard box containing the laptop and its trappings was almost as big as she was, although it mustn't have weighed _that_ much, because she didn't seem to be struggling with it. Nicholas would have offered to carry it, but it seemed important to her that the rest of the staff witness this sale. It probably had something to do with the company's (doubtless miserly) holiday bonus scheme.

"We don't do gift-wrapping, I'm afraid," she said, scanning it into the till.

"That's all right. I'm pretty good at it."

"I'm crap," said Charlotte, pointing to where he could insert his debit card into the keypad end of the machine. "My dad's crap, too. Mum's the only one who can do it. Is it weird, being a bloke who's good at wrapping gifts?"

 _You have no idea_ , Nicholas thought, entering his PIN. For two grand, Danny had better _worship_ the goddamned thing, and also install whatever software it was that would unlock the DVD settings and finally enable them to watch the few Region 1 discs floating around in Danny's vast collection.

 

* * *

"Was it good?" Danny asked, dragging a chair after him into Nicholas's office. "Well?"

Abruptly, Nicholas started awake, ashamed he'd been caught drifting off. "Mmhm. What?"

"Bastards must've done you in," said Danny, fondly, reaching across the desk to tap on Nicholas's head. "I bet they threw so much information at you it'll be _ages_ before I can get you to switch off again. What'd they cover, anyway?"

 _Cover? Um, right. Training thing._ "You know, the usual."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, if by 'the usual' you mean 'what's already in the bloody book.'"

Nicholas rubbed his eyes. "No, I mean the same kind of procedural nonsense that's in the book, only significantly updated and infinitely more complicated."

"Nonsense? You actually think it's nonsense?"

"I do when it results in a perfectly good Sunday spent away from you."

Aside from the awkward silence, that shut Danny right up. Made him look rather pleased, even, once the awkwardness had passed. He picked up a pen and started doodling upside-down on Nicholas's desk calendar. For Nicholas, however, it was all right-side up. Where did Danny find the _time_?

"I didn't do much anyway," he reassured Nicholas, the doodle taking recognizable shape. "Just watched a few of the old favorites, nothing you ain't seen. Doris dropped by to talk shop about the party, _et cetera_. Did you know she wants real candles?"

"No," Nicholas yawned, and then, more loudly: " _No_! Absolutely _not_."

Danny laughed, giving the hedgehog a big, shiny Rudolph-nose. "Yeah, I didn't think so! I told her no on your behalf. Seeing as I'm a sergeant now, she said she'd respect my wishes."

"That's kind of her," Nicholas said, collapsing back into his chair. He'd been about to call Doris in and chew her out for it, but he was glad that wouldn't be necessary.

Danny gave the hedgehog antlers. "There! Now he's all festive."

"I wouldn't advise doing that to the real one, assuming we ever see it again."

"I see him all the time! Hides in the hedge down where the old station used to be. I think he's secretly awaiting our return. You know, holding down the fort an' all that."

"Barring any explosive incidents at the holiday party, I hope this will be our home for years to come." Nicholas chewed on the inside of his cheek, suddenly wistful.

"Don't you worry your head about it," said Danny, whose fingers were, somehow, twined with Nicholas's. "I intend to make sure no shenanigans of the fatal variety occur."

As always, Cartwright managed to spoil the moment by pressing his face up against the glass and mouthing something that looked an awful lot like _benders_. Danny broke away and scowled at him, whereas Nicholas wasn't feeling nearly so generous. It was a circumstance in which only the severest of hand-gestures would do.

There was no stopping it, though, whatever it was, slouching inexorably near.

 

* * *

A week later, Doris turned up in Nicholas's office wearing a pained expression. However, Nicholas was feeling generous, on account of the fact that it had been a week in which he'd slept much better since switching back to passing out on Danny's couch. He vaguely remembered his mum mentioning something about marriage being like that: once you started sharing a bed with somebody, you quickly lost the ability to properly fall asleep without them there. Only this wasn't marriage, exactly, and it wasn't a bed, either, although Nicholas had been having some warm, pleasant dreams that suggested otherwise. He shook himself, trying to put the image out of his head. _Doris. PC Thatcher. Right there. Wants a word with you._

"Are you all right, Inspector?"

"Yes, fine. Thanks. What is it?"

"Would you mind terribly if it was _electric_ candles? They'd look ever so nice in the windows."

Nicholas sighed. "No. I wouldn't mind. Not _too_ many of them, please."

"Right you are! Just the front of the building, I reckon. That'll be, what, eight? Four ground-floor windows and four first-floor windows."

"I can count," Nicholas said. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got—"

Doris's face fell again. "Inspector, it ain't really about the candles."

Nicholas opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I...see."

"Danny's in a right state about what to get you for Christmas, sir, and I promised I wouldn't say nothing, but I just _couldn't —_"

"Tell him that his living, breathing presence is all I require. Er, you don't have to tell him _I_ said it, that is. You know what I mean. Reassure him that —" _bloody hell, this is not the way to start off a Monday_ " —he's enough. However one does that, exactly."

"The way I see it, sir, you do that all the time, but that lie about training down in Buford Abbey weren't the best move you could've made. I just played dumb, though, said I was sure you'd be sending the first lot of us on down soon. So, what did you get him?"

Nicholas covered his face with both hands, muffling a silent string of curses.

"Once again, as if I'd tell _you_. And if you wouldn't mind terribly, get back to worrying about decorations."

"With all due respect, sir," said Doris, tartly, "it's Danny I'm worried about." She left brusquely, letting the door close just a bit too hard in her wake.

Just a day short of a month until the party, and everything was going cheerfully to hell.

Meanwhile, Nicholas was careful to be nice to Danny. As in, even nicer than usual, to the point where the Andys were mocking even the smallest gestures and exchanges. About the third time they slammed Nicholas for bringing Danny a cup of tea about mid-morning, he told them he'd had enough, thank you, and that they were officially on party-planning duty with Doris.

"Ta, Inspector," Doris said, glaring at him. "I'll be glad of the help."

The best Nicholas could do was bring _her_ a cup of tea, too.

"How 'bout us, love?" asked Cartwright, as if addressing one of the young-ish female wait staff down at the Crown. "Milk and two sugars for me!"

"Just shove it," Wainwright muttered. "We're in enough trouble as is. I don't know the first thing about fairy lights."

"Nicholarse and Fanny probably do. Why don't they help Dor-ass themselves?"

"While you're at it, you can take over patrol when the Turners are finished," added Nicholas, icily. Danny snickered quietly into his fist, trying to disguise it as a cough.

"Hey! That ain't our job!" the Andys chorused.

"It is from now until Christmas," Nicholas reassured them.

 

* * *

"That bit where you put the Andys on patrol duty? Was just _brilliant_ ," Danny said with fervent glee. He set both bottles down on the coffee table: Chimay Blue for Nicholas, Carlsberg for himself. Danny had quickly picked up on the fact that if Nicholas was going to get blasted somewhere other than the pub, he at least preferred the stuff brewed by monks. It was one of those little things that made Nicholas want to relocate their movie nights to the bedroom all the worse. He suspected they'd need Danny's new laptop for that.

"Yes, well," said Nicholas, taking a tentative sip of his beer, "they deserved it." It was a young bottle, comparatively speaking, but you couldn't always expect the stock that wound up in supermarkets to be properly aged. Fortunately, Chimay was a good beer even on the low end of its own spectrum. "I have to remind them I'm not the only twat in the building."

"You're _not_ ," Danny insisted, going all pained and passionately earnest as he sometimes did. "They don't understand you, that's all. If they gave a shit about getting to know you better, they wouldn't dare think it for much longer. I mean, you can be kind of serious, but considering that's ratcheted down from what I thought of you at first—"

Nicholas leaned back and blinked at him, taking a longer sip. "What _did_ you think of me at first? I don't think I ever bothered to ask. Be brutally honest."

Danny finished off his beer in one long pull, as if to borrow some Dutch courage. " _I_ kind of thought you were a twat, to be honest, but it weren't like _that_. I could tell you were better than you seemed, underneath it all. I'm glad I turned out to be right."

Nicholas nodded, staring pensively at the label on his bottle. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Whereas you thought I was a complete moron," Danny said, reaching over to clink his bottle against Nicholas's. "Fair dues. I _am_ kind of slow at times, but not when it really matters, I hope."

Nicholas screwed his eyes shut and choked down a hysterical giggle.

"No, no," he managed, finally. "It was never like that. I found you frustratingly single-minded at times, perhaps, and I said a few things I shouldn't have, but I never really..." He paused, sighing heavily. "And you're not buying a word of it." Bottoms up.

Alarmed, Danny snatched the empty bottle off of him and set it on the table. "I'm cutting you off. I wouldn't have taken you for one of them depressive types, but if you're just going to keep on down this road, I think we'd best switch to tea."

Nicholas stared at him, annoyed and touched all at once.

"I didn't have _that_ much at the Crown."

Danny shook his head. "No, but you had _enough_. Dad told me once that you startle easy when you're drunk. Said it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. I ain't never seen it till now, you know. Although I've heard you laugh like that when you're really fucking strung-out. Is all this party business wearing on your nerves?"

Nicholas tried to parse out everything Danny had just said, then gave up. It was easier just to let his head drift down to Danny's shoulder and turn, inexorably, into Danny's warmth. Danny's arm pulled him in as if Danny hadn't even had to think twice about it. They sat like that for a long time, drinking in the silence. _I could fall asleep and never wake up_ , thought Nicholas, letting his eyes drift shut. _I could stay here. Turn back time and make it so that I'd never known anything but this_.

"...you asleep?" Danny was whispering, so softly that Nicholas almost couldn't make it out. He couldn't get himself to respond properly, either. He nosed his way more snugly into the curve of Danny's neck. If he didn't listen now, he might never bring himself to it.

"Bless," Danny sighed, his breath ghosting against Nicholas's ear. "And here I thought it was just me." He kissed the spot just below Nicholas's earlobe, at which point the strained sound he made in the back of his throat shot Nicholas's pulse through the ceiling. If Danny noticed, continuing to feign sleep would be out of the question. The fact that his lips were now pressed against the corner of Nicholas's mouth suggested otherwise.

"I've got to go somewhere tomorrow," Danny was saying, his voice low and quiet. "Without you. But I'm going to leave you right here, so don't you worry. I might be a bit late for work, though, and I'm going to have to lie to you about that. We'll sort it out later."

 _Later? What if we haven't_ got _a later?_ Nicholas wanted to ask, his heart still triphammering as Danny gently laid him down and pulled the ratty old blanket down from the back of the couch and covered him with it.

"Wish I could take you with me," Danny whispered, rising, and went to bed.

Nicholas slept fitfully, and somewhere after dawn (the light through the curtains suggested it was just past six), Danny left the house. Nicholas heard his car start up and pull away into the street. And from there? God only knew. He was probably off to Buford Abbey to buy Nicholas's Christmas present, but to Nicholas it felt as if he'd buggered off to France or somewhere similar. He took a miserable shower in Danny's bathroom and turned up to the station early. He'd always kept spare uniform pieces in his locker, and he'd never been more grateful of that than now.

Bunkered down in his office with a backlog of paperwork, Nicholas waved off anybody who asked where Danny was. "Asleep?" he'd say, not bothering to look up, following it with a well-timed shrug and an implied _he'll get here when he bloody well gets here_.

Danny didn't turn up until after noontime, but when he did, he was cheerful and clean-shaven. His uniform looked suspiciously well pressed. Nicholas watched him exchange words with Doris, Walker, and Fisher before making a beeline for Nicholas's door. _Oh God_.

"'Morning," he said, pulling up the chair, which he'd left there last time. "You sleep all right? Sorry about not bein' there when you got up. I figured maybe you'd be the worse for wear, and when I didn't find what I was looking for down the chemist's or at Somerfield I thought, drat, better run to the Tesco in Buford Abbey, because—" Danny lifted the bag he'd been carrying from the floor, revealing its contents with a showman's flair "—ta-da! There's nothing like hair o' the dog, eh, to nip that hangover in the bud?"

Nicholas stared at the champagne-sized bottle of Chimay blue for a few seconds, then switched to staring at Danny. He wasn't sure whether he ought to laugh it off like the big fucking well-intentioned joke that it was, or tell Danny for the hundredth time that he'd prefer it if alcohol, even _unopened_ alcohol, stayed off the premises. Hair of the dog that bit him indeed.

What he said instead was, "That's sufficient to count for both Christmas _and_ Valentine's Day." _Valentine's Day? Next gift-giving holiday after Christmas, but ill-advised all the same_.

Danny must've caught wind of the embryonic lecture, because he whisked the bottle away to the filing cabinet and stuck it in the (empty) bottom drawer before answering. "Seriously, though, I hope the hangover's not _too_ terrible. I feel kind of responsible, see, buying you all them rounds on a work night and then asking you home for more. I've been trying not to do that. I'm running out of tea, if you want proof."

"I've got the proof already, seeing as I'm the one who's drunk most of it." Nicholas's head _did_ hurt, but he hoped that wasn't the reason why the entire conversation seemed ludicrous. "Danny, thank you. You don't have to drive all the way to Buford Abbey just to get the proper stuff. Those stray bottles that turn up at Somerfield now and again will do fine."

Danny shrugged, smiling as if pleased with himself. "I'm running out of those anyway."

Nicholas nodded, hesitantly returning the smile. "Don't think I won't share it."

"I don't like it much," Danny confessed, wrinkling his nose a bit. "You're welcome to it. And if you drink that whole thing in one go, you'll _really_ have a hangover."

A tapping sound announced that it was Wainwright's face mashed up against the glass this time. He had his arms full of fairy lights, and Cartwright was stood behind him holding a small Christmas tree. _Gay_ , they mouthed.

"Jog on," replied Danny, loudly. "Nosy motherfuckers!"

Nicholas took a deep breath and let his eyes fall back on his paperwork.

 

* * *

If Nicholas wondered why, in the fortnight leading up to the day before the party, Danny didn't ask him over for any reason at all, he certainly wasn't going to pry. And if Danny wondered why Nicholas didn't ask him over, either, then Nicholas wasn't going to pry about _that_ , either. Double blind wondering was better than all-out fretting. On his end of things, of course, it was getting close to that—and Doris could spot a distress signal from the opposite end of the station. She knocked before entering.

"Come in."

"Oh, good," she breathed, careful to shut the door quietly behind her. "Danny said you didn't look like you wanted to be disturbed. D'you mind if I test the lights?"

Nicholas cleared his throat and flipped to the next page of the report he was reviewing.

"I thought I'd made it clear that there were to be no fairy lights in my window."

"Strictly speaking, sir, they ain't _in_ your window. They're affixed on the opposite side."

"Then the switch is, I trust, out there and not in here."

"Right you are. But I'd rather you got annoyed to my face instead of through the glass, see? Something's not quite right as it is. No offense meant, Inspector."

Nicholas put down the report, fixing her with a pointed look. "No offense to you, either, but you're incorrigible. It's probably little consolation, but this _isn't_ something you can smooth over with a few reassuring words and the judicious application of holiday fripperies. Also, it's none of your business."

"It is when Danny's on a knife-edge when you're not around," Doris informed him snappishly. "I don't know what's going on here. I'm not even sure I want to know, but I'll tell you one thing. When I said I wanted to see everybody happy again, I _meant_ it. Now, if you can't sort out your sorry head and let Danny know you're there for him when he needs you —which he _does_ , worse than he realizes—then it'd be best if you didn't keep getting his hopes up and dashing them to pieces. That's all I'm saying." She let out her breath, as if she'd been holding it in spite of the mouthful she'd just spit out. "Now, you just close your eyes and while I test this out and pretend the lights ain't there. If you're a good lad and don't cry about it, I might even bring you a cup of tea. How many sugars?"

"One," Nicholas admitted, trying his best to fight off the brief, unexpected stinging in his eyes once she'd gone. The lights flared to life, white and blinding even by day.

The tea arrived as promised, but Doris wasn't the one to bring it.

" _Sugar_ in your _tea_?" asked Danny, incredulously, with a touch of this-is-blackmail-material-if-I-ever-saw-it hovering about the edges of his voice. "What's the world coming to?" He set the cup and saucer down in front of Nicholas. "I used the new kettle in the kitchen rather than Doris's personal one. It has less lime scale."

Nicholas took a sip, grateful that the lights had chosen that moment to blink out. Through the glass, Doris gave him a thumbs-up that, he suspected, had nothing to do with decorations.

"It's good, Danny. Sit down, would you?"

"Was planning on it," Danny admitted. "I've got nothing left to do, and I just keep getting underfoot. I'm tired of the Andys swearing and stomping about upstairs."

Nicholas raised his eyebrows, concerned. "What's upstairs besides four electric candles?"

"Garlands," said Danny, darkly. "Sparkly white and silver. With those ball-thingies hanging off them. And real mistletoe, loads of it. Wainwright cut it from his dad's orchard."

Sipping his tea slowly, Nicholas cringed. "Should I go up there and have a look, maybe rein them in a bit?"

"Too late for that," Danny said. "It's down to finishing touches now."

"Right. At least it'll be ready _before_ tomorrow night."

"Doris is really organized, whatever else she may be."

Nicholas put down the cup and saucer, sliding it across the desk. "Want the rest? It's too sweet."

"Yeah," Danny said. "I could use the caffeine."

"I've had too much of that, too. I won't sleep tonight."

Danny took a sip and gave him a concerned look. "You haven't been sleeping, period. I can tell. Is there something wrong with the mattress on that bed of yours? I knew Dad should've ordered in all new furniture."

"I'm not used to it," Nicholas mumbled, picking the report back up.

"Not used to it?" Danny snorted. "You've been living there at _least_ a year now, and —" he paused, as if something had just dawned on him "— _oh_. Yeah. I see."

Defeated, Nicholas tossed the packet down and gave him a weak smile. _So what now?_

Danny just nodded, staring into the teacup for a moment before answering.

"I was thinking," he began slowly, "that now we're not as busy as we've been these past couple weeks, maybe you ought to come over this evening. You know, the usual. I've—" he paused again, as if choosing his words carefully "—missed you."

"There is that," Nicholas said, so relieved that he had to focus on the cup of tea and all it represented to keep the stinging from coming back. "I've missed you, too." _There. Not so hard, is it?_ Even his conscience was beginning to sound like Doris.

Danny grinned at him, brighter than the fairy lights and nowhere near as tear-inducing.

"But you'd better bring the beer along, got it?"

Nicholas grinned back. "Understood, Sergeant."

 

* * *

The wind was biting cold, so Nicholas thanked his lucky stars that Danny had driven to work. The trip home, as brief as it was in actuality, seemed to take forever. It might've been easier to bear if Danny had kept silent, but his constant chatter in and of itself was comforting. Nicholas knew that Danny didn't expect him to answer, especially in matters of family holiday gossip. Apparently, some of his more distant relations by way of Auntie Jackie's late husband were causing some mischief.

"And _that's_ why she's thinking of dropping 'round my place on Christmas day," Danny concluded, pulling up neatly in front of his flat. "I just hope we're not too hung-over to be pleasant company. She'll be needing some after that lot clear out."

 _Hoping we're not too hung-over_ , Nicholas thought, putting Danny's choice of phrase on repeat in his head as they got out of the car. _We. It's us against the rest of the world, isn't it? And it wouldn't even occur to me to question it. Not anymore._

"When's your cut-off point?" Nicholas asked, his arms full with the giant Chimay bottle as they stepped across the threshold.

Danny turned and blinked at him, shrugging out of his coat. "My what?"

"Cut-off point. Tomorrow night. Just say the word and it's no more piss-water beer for _you_."

"Oh, right," Danny laughed, reaching for Nicholas's coat so he could hang it along with his own. "Well, I'd suggest the point at which it looks like I can no longer tell the difference between Andy and Andy."

Nicholas gave him a dubious look, carrying the beer over to Danny's coffee table. "Can _anybody_ tell the difference between Andy and Andy, even sober?" Nicholas surveyed the room, once again stuck by how much better the place looked since they'd managed to get everything out of the boxes and all the furniture properly put into place.

"All right, then, let's go with the point at which I can no longer tell the difference between you and, I don't know, the wall."

"I think you've just given yourself license to drink at least five or six beyond the ideal limit," Nicholas warned, taking a seat on the couch. He removed the bottle from its plastic bag and twisted the wire fixture that covered the cork until it came loose. He clapped his hand over the cork instantly, easing it out so that the pressure wouldn't send it flying at the ceiling. He succeeded, although the foam went everywhere.

"Did you shake it?" Danny asked. "I'll get some paper towels."

"No," Nicholas called after him. "But I think it must've rolled around a good bit in your boot on the way back from Buford Abbey!"

"Shouldn't have done that, though," Danny said, returning just in time to start sopping at the stuff before it ran all over the carpet. "It's had some time to cool its heels in your filing cabinet."

"There would have been nothing to relieve the pressure till now," Nicholas said, taking the job over from Danny, seeing as he'd been the one to make the mess. "Fetch a couple of glasses, would you?"

While drinking Chimay from a pair of worn green Coca-Cola glasses had quite a different feel to drinking it from one of the proper abbey-style glasses at the pub (in London, granted, as the Crown had never even heard of it), Nicholas decided that the experience was not at all unpleasant. Danny put on a brave face and finished his first glass on pace with Nicholas, although when it came time for pouring seconds, he cut Nicholas off at the halfway point.

"I'm trying, but a man _does_ have his limits. It's so _strong_."

"It only takes half as much," Nicholas confirmed, filling his glass to the brim. "This stuff's nine percent. Your piss-water is three or four percent at best."

"It does the job," Danny said, not quite defensively, "and it's a lot cheaper, too."

"Quality over quantity," Nicholas insisted, sipping off some of the foam so his glass wouldn't overflow. "Although I _did_ manage four of the small bottles in one night, once upon a time."

Danny glanced at the big bottle, then back at Nicholas. "One of the big bottles, in other words."

Nicholas squinted at the number of ounces and did the math. "Yes. Actually."

Danny leaned back, cradling his glass to his chest. "That's a lot of fucking strong beer. That's like...I don't know, me on ten Carlsbergs or maybe six pints of lager."

Nicholas nodded. His head was starting to swim a little, probably because they hadn't yet thought about dinner and his lunch had been non-existent. Booze on an empty stomach was rarely a good idea, but then, Nicholas was trying to _prevent_ himself from over-thinking, and how was he supposed to do that if he was sober? _Tea_ , he reminded himself. _You could think about the tea. With too much sugar_.

"What're you laughing at?" Danny asked. He made a face, finished his Chimay, and thrust the glass onto the table as if he was all too glad to have done with it.

"Doris," Nicholas said, swilling around the half-glass he was down to. "She had you bring my tea."

"Yeah," Danny muttered. "Not that I minded, but can you imagine the field day Andy had with _that_ one?"

Nicholas grimaced, deciding against finishing his beer. Some things were best discussed with a modicum of sobriety after all. "I can. Not that I _want_ to, but I can."

"The trouble is," said Danny, hesitantly, "is that it all hits a little too close to home."

Nicholas nodded at the carpet. Emphatically.

"Listen, if you don't _say_ something? I'm going to fucking lose my mind, because I _know_ that you couldn't have been asleep. And! _And_ , furthermore, did you honestly think _I_ was asleep? Those times on the bus, even? I may be single-minded, as you put it, but I'm not twelve."

"I know you're not," said Nicholas, quietly, struggling to meet Danny's eyes. "As for those times on the bus, yes, I kind of thought that you were. But if you're talking about two weeks ago—"

"Thank _God_ it's not just me," breathed Danny, elated. Either that or the beer was going to his head, too. It was very likely, seeing as he wasn't used to it. In addition to everything else, of course. This conversation, unlike most of the others they'd engaged in recently, had nothing of the usual tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. They were staring it in the face, and it was decidedly _not_ pink.

"I lied about the training," Nicholas blurted. "I was buying your Christmas present."

"Yeah," Danny said. "And that big fuck-off bottle of Belgian tripe was just a red herring. Not that you _needed_ a red herring. I knew you'd know I was lying anyway."

"Although it's a compelling argument towards the theory you were just trying to get me drunk enough to fall into bed with you all along," Nicholas replied, throwing both caution _and_ sobriety to the wind, which had picked up and begun to howl since they'd come inside. "Nothing else had ever done the trick, so why not shell out a bit more for the strong stuff, seeing as I like it anyw — _ah_." _Right. Kissing now._

At length, Danny broke away and said, hoarsely, "The bed _is_ more comfortable than the couch, you know. Probably better for your back, too."

Nicholas was _nobody_ to argue with that.

 

* * *

Loud, coronary-inducing ringtone. Nicholas was sure he'd awakened to this before, only this time he was naked and wrapped up in three layers of blankets and ( _mmm_ ) naked Danny.

"Fucking 'ell," muttered Danny, indistinctly, burrowing closer against Nicholas. "S'it Christmas?"

"Close enough," Nicholas yawned, getting a mouthful of Danny's hair. "Where's your mobile?"

"Dunno. Over there." Danny gestured, which mostly amounted to his hand lifting from where it had been resting between Nicholas's shoulder blades, then returning to the exact same spot, only with a pleasant, tickling sort of caress added in.

Nicholas was finding it hard to focus. "Over _where_?"

Danny shrugged, which in this position meant more of a suggestive wriggle. "Floor? Somewhere?"

"Helpful," sighed Nicholas, not in the least inclined to get up and look.

 

* * *

"You lads had better have a good excuse," Doris said when they arrived at the station almost two hours later. She glanced questioningly at the bags they were carrying. "You ain't been up to Buford Abbey again, have you?"

"No," said Nicholas, following Danny over to his desk, where they offloaded the bags and beckoned Doris over to peer inside. "We can't very well have a party without food, can we? Didn't you get Danny's text message?" There hadn't _actually_ been one, what with as rushed as they'd been, but coming from Nicholas, it would at least sound convincing.

"We'll have to run for the booze later," Danny said, headed for the kitchen with an armful of soda bottles. "Nicholas won't have it sitting 'round here all day during opening hours."

Nicholas gave Danny a mildly reproving look that was meant to say _Don't push it, I'm still your superior officer_ , but judging by Danny's thoroughly love-struck expression, it had probably said something like _Just you wait till we're alone_. Then again, if Nicholas had been able to tell his sense of duty to go hang, they would never have got out of bed.

"So when do _I_ get to go on a field trip to the supermarket with the Inspector?" asked Cartwright, with mock anticipation. Wainwright backed him up with a childish clap of the hands.

"Maybe if you're very good boys _indeed_ and do an extra patrol shift, you can go and fetch the booze together at the end of the day," suggested Nicholas, feeling too cheerful to let them spoil his day.

Danny, returning from the kitchen just in time to catch the exchange, snickered. He got a bin in the forehead for his trouble, but now that they'd switched over from metal to plastic, there had been much less call for ice-packs and plasters.

"I'm thinkin' your cousin's Death Punch," Cartwright said to Wainwright, nodding sagely.

"You mean the stuff Sam made for his mates at their last LAN party and got 'em all so drunk they thought they were playin' D&D in real-time and fucked the mission six ways to Sunday because they couldn't find a d20?"

"The very same," Cartwright confirmed.

"Lucky bastards," sighed Danny, wistfully.

Nicholas pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and made a swift exit to his office. So far, he'd been able to keep quiet about Danny's gift, but it had got increasingly more difficult. _Courage, man. Less than twenty-four hours left_.

The remainder of the day passed in a flurry of calls regarding stolen lawn ornaments and other acts of petty holiday vandalism. Danny spend most of the day humoring Doris's last minute fretting over the station's copious adornments. At lunchtime, Danny brought in tea and sandwiches for both of them. Nicholas couldn't help but notice Danny had left out the sugar.

"You never finish it when it's in," Danny said, taking a seat across from him. "I always end up finishing it for you, and then I'm running to the loo every ten minutes because I drank all my own, too."

"Then I'll do my best not to leave any, sugar or no," Nicholas said, grinning at him. "What's on the menu?" he asked, peeking inside one of the sandwich wrappers.

"They're both the same. Coronation chicken. There weren't anything else left. Doris and the Andys beat me to the shop."

"I knew we should've picked up something this morning at Somerfield. Those Thai red curry bowls looked good."

Danny wrinkled his nose. "You and your funny Asian stuff. Next thing I know, you'll be towing me down to London for sushi. Which scares me, by the way."

"Danny, have you ever _had_ Thai?"

"No. And I thought sushi was Japanese?"

"It is. One thing at a time," Nicholas reassured Danny, reaching across the desk to pat his hand. It was far less than he wanted to do, but the gesture would have to suffice.

Unexpectedly, Danny caught his hand and turned it over gently, stroking the underside of Nicholas's wrist with his thumb.

"I don't want to be here right now," he said.

"Neither do I," Nicholas confessed, giving Danny's fingers a squeeze.

 

* * *

By the time six-thirty came around, Nicholas counted it fortunate that they'd managed to get through the day without any major slips. And if his eyes lingered a bit too possessively over Danny while they changed in the locker room, nobody seemed to notice. Nicholas imagined it was down to the fact that the Andys had buggered off for booze-procuring purposes at the earliest opportunity.

"You're staring," Danny informed him as he finished buttoning up his shirt. It wasn't often that Nicholas saw him in something even remotely formal outside of work. Collared shirts did, however, suit him.

Nicholas glanced around to make sure that Fisher and the Turners were gone. "Yeah, and you were _leering_ a few minutes ago. Your point?"

Danny shrugged, then reached over to straighten Nicholas's collar.

"Ready?" he asked, his tone equal parts excitement and trepidation.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Nicholas admitted. "Let's crash this party."

The music was an unfortunate cross between Doris's collection of corny American Christmas albums and Mrs. Fisher's holiday classical. The CD player with five-disc shuffle was on loan from Sergeant Turner, who had promised a slow and painful death to anyone unfortunate enough to spill a drink on it. Danny said that was fair enough.

The Andys were newly returned, unpacking the oddest assortment of cordials, juices, and liquors that Nicholas had ever seen. They'd also managed to turn up a gigantic plastic mixing bowl that had, from the look of it, been repeatedly used for raspberry picking.

"Death Punch," Danny murmured in awe. "The mad fuckers."

As the mixing commenced, Nicholas was fairly appalled to discover that what constituted said concoction was three types of rum, two types of vodka, two bottles of Dr. Pepper, and enough blackcurrant Ribena to put Danny in a sugar coma.

"To invoke Grayskull, I think," said Nicholas, gulping as Wainwright thrust a cup into his hand, "would be blasphemous."

"Probably," said Danny, accepting a cup from Cartwright, and shrugged. "Bottoms up?"

The stuff was, as Nicholas had expected, positively vile. Danny looked instantly sorry that he'd chugged it, although he offered to finish Nicholas's anyway. Nicholas shook his head vehemently and dumped the remainder back in the bowl. Doris caught him at it and started laughing her head off.

"So much for being discreet," Danny said, laughing with her.

The situation improved marginally when the snacks finally came out, although Saxon's silent thievery was a constant menace. Half a bottle of decent white wine later, Nicholas pointed out that if somebody put Doris's jingly reindeer antlers on him, they'd be able to hear him coming. The Andys must have been well and truly trollied, because they were the first to hail him as a genius.

"Goodunlad," said Walker, smelling strongly of scotch, and patted Nicholas on the shoulder.

Danny, on about his third crap beer, just winked at him.

Meanwhile, the Turners were out to prove what an astonishing number of drinking games they knew between the two of them. About the time that the beer pong tournament degenerated into an impromptu game of Never Have I Ever, Nicholas tapped Danny on the shoulder and suggested, unsteadily, that perhaps they ought to adjourn to one side for a breather.

"Yeah," said Danny, flicking a piece of tinsel from the garland over their heads that had threatened to land on him. "Nasty game, that, if you ain't quite drunk enough to admit to all the crazy shit you've done."

"Everybody here _knows_ what crazy shit I've done, none of which has been in the bedroom," said Nicholas, flatly. " _When_ was I cutting you off again?"

Danny grinned, flashing him an unfocused grin. "Not a clue."

"Right," Nicholas sighed, shoving both hands in his pockets. He was just drunk enough to feel as if this quiet corner was theirs and theirs alone, and God knew what hell would break loose if -

"Never," Wainwright was suddenly shouting, loudly enough for the whole room to hear, "has Nicholas Angel _ever_ —" he paused, building up the requisite suspense "—snogged Danny Butterman under the mistletoe!"

At which point, Nicholas realized why they'd hung so many bloody pieces of it at intervals around the room. No use being a poor sport now. It was, after all, Christmas Eve. And if a hug and a smack on the cheek didn't count as snogging, Danny didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was so pleased that he returned the favor.

The room erupted into good-natured applause, and the only person who looked surprised was Sergeant Turner. His brother, however, couldn't care less, on account of having passed out on the beer pong table (courtesy of Andy's cousin's Death Punch).

 

* * *

The bed was warm, but Danny was warmer. It was strange, Nicholas reflected, finding himself in that half-waking space with the knowledge that Danny had somehow beaten him to it. He stretched and rolled over, finding the space between Danny's elbow and his hip a convenient pillow.

The clicking of keys was incessant, but Danny's fingers briefly found their way into Nicholas's hair and wandered down to stroke between his shoulder blades. Nicholas hadn't been sure that giving Danny his present at half past one in the morning when both of them had still been moderately drunk was a good idea, but the current situation was, at least, encouraging. Danny was an admirable multi-tasker.

"Lazy git," murmured Danny, affectionately. " _Oi_! What the _fuck_ is that, and why won't it die?"

"What the fuck are you _doing_?" Nicholas asked, his words muffled.

"I snagged an unprotected wireless signal. This demo is bloody brilliant."

Nicholas kissed the spot into which he'd been muttering.

"Don't you worry," Danny reassured him, and the clicking stopped again. Nicholas hadn't realized how tense his neck muscles were until Danny had started working on them. "We'll take the bus to Buford Abbey tomorrow and use your gift voucher. I _hope_ it's enough for what you're looking for."

Nicholas snorted. Fourteen hundred quid to spend at PC World? He'd live.

"What I'd like to know is how you managed to pick out this beauty all on your own."

"There was a girl who knew more about gaming laptops than I know about riot control. Wait, tomorrow? The buses don't run on Boxing Day."

"Dammit, you're right. And that'll be the Aaronson boy's older sister."

Nicholas wondered why he hadn't caught that. The hair should've given it away. Lazily, he wrapped an arm around the nearest bit of Danny he could reach, which happened to be his thigh. Nicholas wasn't in the habit of sleeping naked, but he could get used to it.

"Don't go getting' _too_ comfortable. Auntie Jackie'll be here around noon."

"What time is it?"

Nicholas felt Danny shrug. "Twenty past eleven. There's time."

" _Danny_!" Nicholas disentangled himself and sat up, frantically glancing around the room. "We haven't even got the place straightened up, let alone —" The headache hit him squarely between the eyes, at which point he wasn't looking at anything except the ceiling, which gave way to Danny's concerned face.

"I thought you didn't touch the Death Punch."

Groaning, Nicholas screwed his eyes shut. "I didn't."

"That'll be the wine, then. You drank almost two bottles."

"No one else was touching it," Nicholas insisted. "I had dibs."

Danny leaned in and kissed Nicholas's forehead, then his lips.

"It's tea and a shower for you."

"But there's no—"

"Time's what we've got," Danny said, gathering Nicholas up in his arms with ease. The laptop had gone off somewhere, probably the floor, which was strangely reassuring.

"True," conceded Nicholas, giving in. Christmas wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
